I Still Know You
by Gohanroxme
Summary: "Even if you change, even if you try to kill me . . ." He takes in her face one last time- the last part to transform, the last part of her –despite the tears running down her cheeks, despite the screeches that sound more like sobs, "You're still my Clare, right? You can only be my Clare."/ In which Clare fully awakens. Post-timeskip. R


I Still Know You: Raki/Clare: Post-timeskip-

_A/N: I'm back, just like I said I would be. ^_^ This is shorter than the other Claymore one-shot I wrote, but please enjoy nonetheless!_

**Disclaimer: **_**Claymore**_** belongs to Norihiro Yagi.**

It's horrifying. The noises of agony emitting from her throat, the distortion of her skin, the feral look in her eyes . . . it's simply horrifying because . . . because it's not like her. Seeing her weak, uncollected, on her knees with her fingernails digging into the earth at his feet, the earth that shakes along with her . . . it's unnerving.

She's gritting her sharpening teeth, muscles bulging, rippling, groaning with something in between ecstasy and pain.

"R-Raki," she hisses, voice gravelly, almost unrecognizable, "you need to run. Go. _Now_. I . . . I'm going to–!"

He can only stare at her as her blonde locks rise with something that may be static. If he hasn't heard her say that before. He finds it strange that, despite that she is ultimately suffering, all he responds with is, "Fight it."

Her nostrils flare. Her sword arm is changing. The ground beneath them cracks. Oh boy, is he scared. Oh, how panic is rising to his chest. Oh, how his feet are mounted to the spot. Oh, how he wants to go, wants to leave her there and take shelter behind something solid, but hasn't he sworn to himself that he wouldn't abandon her? Hasn't he vowed to accept her no matter what?

He's always felt that, inside, she is a whirlpool of passion. Can't anyone see this? The person she is? So gorgeous and kind and protective and compassionate? So unfathomably strong? Will this really change because of a monstrous outward appearance? Will this really change because of an unsettling appetite for innards?

_Such a world they live in,_ he thinks as she watches him with a gaze full of despair. Of fear. Of sorrow. It pains him to see _these_ expressions on her face. The tears welling in her eyes whilst sharpened teeth bare, dust and dirt swirling around them. And he can feel it at this moment- her exact emotions. She's afraid for him, worried about what grave harm she's on the verge of causing him.

It shatters his heart. It strengthens his resolve. How can they _both_ be so terrified? Why can't he ever be _strong for her_? For once? Why can't he be the one . . . to tell her with a firm voice . . . and mean it "It will be alright," even if it won't be?

She bows her head, breathing erratically in short, broken gasps. "Why are . . . _you still here_?"

He stares at her, ignoring the foreboding sense of mass destruction, of chaos and disorder and horror to utter, "I'm still here . . . for you, Clare."

And she screams, throwing back her head. Oh, this sound is familiar. A horrendous roar of torment that curdles his blood. But even that cry is changing. "Gyaa, gah, gah, gah!" He recalls this noise well, yet still finds himself taking a daring step forward.

What's there to be scared of? This is Clare. Even if she feasts on a human's insides, this is Clare. Even if she turns into a monster, _this is Clare_, and he loves her. _He loves her _and he'll lose his mind along with her.

"You know," he speaks up suddenly, unwaveringly, "I've always thought you were beautiful, Clare. I still think you're beautiful. And I still love you and I still will never forget you or the greatness you have done me."

Grotesque limbs extend in a sickening, almost mangled manner, bursting free from the girl who has once been so humanoid in appearance. Teeth already like saws, body already so deformed- a horrific abomination.

"Even if you change, even if you try to kill me . . ." He takes in her face one last time- the last part to transform, the last part of _her_ –despite the tears running down her cheeks, despite the screeches that sound more like sobs, "You're still my Clare, right? You can only be my Clare."

And then a light flashes like fifteen thousand suns and he's facing Death, Horror, but not a monster. Clare can never be . . . not even as she requests in a voice from his nightmares,

"_Raki . . . won't you give me . . . a taste of your guts?"_


End file.
